So Much More
by MrsRoy
Summary: Olivia and Elliot are partners, but what happens when they cross that line, when they become so much more? Will he still have her back? Post Wildlife Au.
1. Chapter 1

**So this is a multi-chaptered fic based on the little drabblet I wrote (More Than This). It follows the basic outline of that story, with quite a bit more detail. It's mature, but not overly so. Angsty, a bit morbid, fluffy, H/C .. a little bit of everything rolled in. I know it doesn't seem like it yet, but it's EO centric, and actually quite shippy. So please, have a read and and let me know what you think. :) I've written a lot of fic before, but this is my first Elliot/Olivia. I'm interested in feedback. **

**I don't own them, I'm just sharing. **

**Post Wildlife AU.**

* * *

It's cold and it's damp as she makes her way across the derelict Manhattan Street. The silence of the submissive night echoes off a dusky street lamp and she's wet, and she's tired, but returns herself to conscious thought as one foot precedes the latter and heavy footfalls parade across the veiled expanse of busted side walk.

Three times in as many nights now and she's not surprised to find Elliot slumped against the marble bar. His pale blue tie rests awkwardly against the lip of his breast pocket and he looks as though he's gone one too many rounds tonight. The top button of his white dress shirt leaves his broad chest exposed to the frigid cold of the city night. In that moment, Olivia wants nothing more than to occupy that space.

"Thanks, Joe. What does he owe you?"

The man in question waves his hand, he's seen these people on the beat, he knows that sometimes, life can kick you in the balls and leave you face down on the ground.

"Don't worry about it, Detective. I think he's paid his dues this week."

"God, Elliot, this is beginning to wear a bit thin. Going home to Kathy is not even an option."

"Liv," he drawls, his breath, a testament to his condition. "Livia, take me home."

He's safe in the arms of love, there's a sway in his stance and his steps are precarious as he teeters, on the brink of wavering. His weight is hard to steady, but she finds his presence comforting. Her arm is around his waist and his is draped across her shoulders and he shuffles like a circus clown, entertaining crowds.

They've tread this beaten path before; there are no shortcuts to any place worth going and though his mind is a brazen haze, he knows that this is the road of least resistance. She'll deliver him safely, just as she always does.

They stumble through her front door together, the lights are low, but he squints, his eyes scrunched against the somber backdrop. He staggers to the chair and drapes himself over the arm like some type of shabby embellishment. If he feels wretched now, he'll be kicking himself come morning.

He strikes up a conversation and she shifts uncomfortably in her seat, the purpose of his statement abundantly clear.

"Liv," he says, "do you ever wonder what it's like to die? Do you ever stop and wonder what it'd be like if everything you ever knew was left behind?"

"God, that's morbid, Elliot." She's not in the mood for pleasantries or abbreviations.

There's no denying the fact that their profession facilitates exposure, entices risk each time they pursue the front line, but he's a family man, has responsibilities away from her. Yet he stays and she wonders why.

"I've been doing some thinking, Liv," and he has, because he's that type of man.

She tries in vain not to snort because sometimes, he just makes her want to explode with amusement. Thankfully, he's too far gone to appreciate her mirth.

"Don't you need some kind of supervision to undertake such a strenuous task?"

"I …," he stops to look at her, words evaporating from his tongue and he realises that he's actually seeing her for the first time. Not his partner, not the woman who's had the better part of his life for the last ten years, but Olivia.

"Come on, Stabler," this time she chuckles. "Time we got some water into you."

The next time he wakes, the fog has shifted from his vision and he rubs his sleepy eyes, moaning for the dull ache emanating from his groin. His cock throbs and he has to concede that feelings long left untouched have finally broken the man. He wants her, craves her, torn between his need and the despair of having known.

* * *

His olfactory senses trail her scent, though he's occupied her quarters on occasion. Circumstances were blameless, never anything less than virtuous. He's chasing a truth that has always been his survival. Time and time again. He's so tired of living that way, wondering whether there's a better life.

She's roused by a warm hand upon her bare shoulder. The bed shifts beneath his weight and Elliot is beside her and just as helpless as she is. His state of undress surprises her, his mouth pressed against her skin, his lips across the delicate arc of her clavicle, even more so.

He's so fucking hard now. It's like nothing else he's ever experienced.

"Elliot. We can't do this, El." Damn logistics. She fists her hand into a ball trying to manage her frustration as he continues his ministrations, focused only on her.

"Elliot, stop. Please." And he does.

He laughs, the chorus rising from deep within his belly and she furrows her brow and wonders how the hell they went from A to … whatever the hell this is in a matter of mere seconds.

"I thought I was going to die." He tells her because he can, because his wife doesn't understand him the way that his partner does. It's always been no contest. "I was laying there with those rounds in my chest, and all I could think about was how much I had to live for, Liv."

She's silent as she mulls over his words. She's not even sure how she'd begin to live without him. She's loved him for as long as she can remember, albeit from a distance. How does she carry on when everything she's ever lived for is gone?

"Tell me, Olivia," he prompts, "how am I supposed to give this up? You, my kids. God, my kids, Liv. How do I do that? "

He's breaking down. The man trained in hand-to-hand combat, seafaring Elliot Stabler, winner takes nothing, reward within himself, succumbing to fear.

"You still have your wife, El. You know, Kathy, the one you made the decision to return to." There's a hint of accusation in her voice and he hates just as much as she that she's had to mention that name while they're sharing this bed.

"We went through the motions, Liv. It's been over for a while. I love my kids, but she'll never be you. I love her, I do, but I'm not in love with Kathy."

He watches her wince, dreamy eyes closed as she struggles to fight the inevitable. She swallows the lump in her throat. She learnt years ago not to fight what was. The irony is that while she's here with another woman's husband, Kathy was always the other woman.

"Sorry, Liv, but I'm stuck on you. I swear I'm not trippin' baby."

He's hurting and she owes him this. There's never been a time when she hasn't had his back.

"El, I …" She's silenced by a rugged finger.

"If you're trying to tell me you don't want this, that's fine. Tell me and I'll leave right now, Liv."

* * *

He parts her knees and settles into the cradle of her thighs. He's frightening as he settles above her. Where once there was a line, he's now tender as he moves within her. She moans into his mouth as he strokes her breast, his teeth come to rest over her heart and he bears down. He's marking her.

She grunts her release and he follows, the offer of potential life forgotten as his seed settles deep within her womb. Happiness isn't good enough, only euphoria will suffice. The universe seems infinitely strange and foreign, as if they gaze upon creation from a distance. It's not the first time one of them has had an out of body experience and they're pretty damn sure it won't be the last.

He holds her as they slumber, the fingers of her free hand curled into the crumpled white sheets beneath them, the other wrapped around his neck, broad shoulders supporting her weight like a greedy child heralding promises of sweets and merriment.

Blue eyes watch her peaceful sleep, and he wonders idly, just how long it'll take him to affirm that he loves her, that he'll give her so much more than she truly deserves.

Lord, forgive his sins. He's only human.


	2. Chapter 2

**I don't own them. I just share. Thanks to G for the read through. **

* * *

Kathy Stabler's pacing. Kathy Stabler doesn't pace. It's just past dawn; she woke to the mews of her infant son, because for all intents and purposes, that's what her youngest child is, just a babe. While the man of the house warms the mate to his soul, she's busy wearing a groove into the plush pile.

She refuses to let her mind meander. Elliot's a good man. There's the pain brought on by burden, the pressure of sorrow that crushes his heart, a constant weight that brings forth bitterness and leaves behind the suggestion of defeat, but he's a damn fine bloodhound and he'd always cherished the fruit of his loins.

She affords him this slip. The going got tough and then, the going just left. A strain on the affections and before she knew it her husband had broken his bonds and was sleeping in the recliner more often than not. She's almost relieved to think that the guys set him up with a comfortable crib last night.

As she clutches her son to her chest, the grey skies fade and the passion of the sun coddles her cheek. It's warm to the touch and she realises that this is exactly what the world was waiting for, another Elliot Stabler.

"We're going to be alright, Eli. Things are going to get better. I promise."

* * *

Daybreak, and the fleeting moon bestows salvation. The familiar skyline greets them, familiar like home and family. Elliot shifts his casual embrace; the lines upon his face betray a lifetime of laughter. He hasn't smiled like this for a while now. His thoughts, feelings, are seemingly separated from the rest of his consciousness. He's delusional.

The heady aroma of musk and their sex fills his nostrils and he inhales deeply, filling his lungs as if her essence nurtures his life blood. His purveyor of worship, she preserves his existence.

He fits himself into the slope of her body, his brawn, conforming to soft curves and sharp hips. He nuzzles at the nape of her neck, his tongue, darting to capture the taste of forever. He listens to her moan and then she arches, pressing her back into his front. He's aching. Now is as good a time as any.

His wedding band glints from the bedside table, but still, he can't suppress his arousal.

"Liv. Livia, I need you."

She rolls over to face him but her eyes remain tightly closed, no specs of burnished colour to seduce him. Instead, she offers a cranny of soppings and his fingers, when he adds a second beckon in a come- hither motion.

* * *

She showers alone; she can't allay her guilty complexes. She can't purge the fear that's ascending like the steamy vapours that pervade her personal space. She's pillaged and plundered and she's inviting misery like she's throwing back shooters. His failings are not hers to harbour, so she does not protest when he decides that he's willing and he's eager.

Does he want green eggs and ham? "Huh, I do not like them, Sam I am."

"What was that Liv?" He asks from the bed.

"Nothing, Elliot. It doesn't matter." He continues to dress in silence.

She thinks it should be awkward, the morning after the night you just made love to your partner in crime. Surprisingly, it's not. Though the boundary has shifted, they know each other well enough to know that if they push the buttons now, the main attraction blows all their hard work to hell.

There's so much she wants to say, but she doesn't want to ruin the moment. When he asks her if she's on the pill she nods, when he tells her they will make it through this, she holds him like he's just told her he's dying. He takes it as a sign that they're ok, she's just remembered that she can't even recall the last time she swallowed a tablet.

_Shit._

She'll cut her losses and take her chances.

"I have to go, Kathy will be wondering."

"Yeah, of course, I understand." He wonders if she really does, because though she has his heart, she's not a mother and that's hard.

"Liv, you're the best. Don't know what I'd do without you."

She may be the best, but part of her wishes she were the only.

"You're a big boy, Stabler. I'm sure you can look after yourself. Get out of here before your wife sends out a search party."

"Yeah, she still hasn't forgiven me for that bender after Eli's birth."

She tries to smile fondly, despite her affinity for her partners youngest, it still breaks her heart to know that she might have been the one who bore Elliot's fifth child. She seems destined to be baron.

She sighs. "I'll see you at the office.

He smiles. "Yeah. Later, Liv."

* * *

Kathy's sleeping when he arrives at home. He needs fresh clothes, just a change and he'll be ready to turn around and leave again.

The floor boards groan under his weight and she stirs from her slumber, groggy. When she speaks, she sounds like her throat is dry and it makes him wish he'd just gone straight to his state issued locker.

"El, is that you?"

"Yeah, it's me, Kathy. Go back to sleep." _Please, please, please, go back to sleep._

"What happened to you last night?"

It's his turn to sigh.

"Worked late, fell asleep at my desk, woke up at the precinct and needed a change of clothes. No big deal."

"Alright." It's not a question and he has no answer.

"Just go back to sleep, I'll get the boy."

This time though, she's seeking an answer. "You alright?"

"Fine, just not a morning person, you know that."

"Where's your wedding ring?"

"Must have left it off when I had a shower. I'll put it on when I get back into work."

"Right. You sure everything's ok?"

He nods. He's not going to have this conversation with her, and nothing is going to spoil the memory of this beautiful day.

His son is changed, his bottom powder pressed and as fresh as a daisy. Elliot leans over the boy, placing his lips to his forehead. As he approaches the door, he turns, he stops, the tears welling in his eyes.

"What have I done, Eli? What have I done?"


	3. Chapter 3

**I dont own them, still just sharing. **

**Thanks for the kind reviews, they really make my day!**

* * *

He's come to the conclusion that over the last week, he's been inexplicitly measuring his life with coffee spoons. Mornings, evenings, afternoons, cream and lumps of sugar when his mood permits.

"Ah, the virtues of coffee."

It's wet and it's warm and when he closes his eyes against the world his mind conjures the vision of his partner. He shrouds her body like a cloak, her slick folds, moist. He traces his knuckle...god damn it.

"I said what the hell is wrong with you, Stabler. You've been like this for days. If you didn't like the coffee, all you had to do was say so. You know, they say the reason Hitler was such an arrogant bastard was because he drank so much coffee."

Elliot looks down, John's desk is sodden. Dossier's once categorised, now bear the taint where the mug has disgraced this system of order. Documents, dispersed like oil upon water, disturbed like a summer breeze tears up the town. He clamps his jaw shut, tightly, and exits the room as though ruins of landscape are completely beyond his control.

"What the fuck crawled up his ass?"

Olivia shrugs. She thought they would be ok, clearly, he's not. "Probably just tired."

John tries to laugh, pushing his glasses back onto his nose, "You think maybe Kathy's revoked privileges?"

"Man, I know you need to shut up before he kicks yo' ass." Fin eyes Olivia suspiciously; he's always known how to sniff out a deal. "What's with him, Livi?"

She doesn't even bother to look. "How should I know? Go and ask him."

"Come on baby, don't hold out on us. What's really goin' on with Elliot?"

She's barely able to conceal her animosity over the incident, but she manages. "Look, guys, I've got work to do, so if you don't mind."

"Yeah, right."

Munch looks at Fin across the table and sighs. "Fine. I'll go."

John wraps on the stall door, "come on, Stabler. Get your hand off your dick."

There's a shuffle of shoes, a hand slams into the back of the door and the grunt that spills forth from Elliot is more than enough to find John backing himself into the nearby sink.

"Jesus Christ, what are you doing in there Elliot?"

No reply, just the sound of laboured breath. On reflection, that's more than enough communication between buddies. A shallow cry reverberates across the room and before he knows it, Munch is back at his desk and quite literally psychologically irreparable.

* * *

"So, what was with you earlier?"

His hands grip the steering wheel like a vice; he's trying not to lose his grip on reality. It's hard to relax while she's in the vicinity.

"Nothing," he barks. "Nothing, just ... nothing, it's nothing, Olivia."

"Sure doesn't seem like nothing to me, El."

"Just give it a rest, please. There's nothing wrong, I'm fine, you're fine, we're all fucking fine."

He's bothered by her words, visibly shaken by the string of vowels and consonants constructing sentence, words and paragraphs perfectly formed around her tongue. Of all the injustice, the violence and oppression that howls around him daily, he's brought down by simple speech.

"Sure, Elliot."

"No, you know what, you want to talk, let's talk. There's a line between us, Olivia. We're partners, we work together. I'm married and that night, whatever the hell it was cannot come between us right now. My son needs me, Christ, he's just a child."

She can see the veins in his neck spontaneously combust and she's had enough of his childishness.

"You done?"

He nods.

"Right, well now that you've had your say, I'm still of the opinion that you're a sanctimonious prick. Can we get on with our jobs now? There's a woman waiting for us and I can guarantee that she's in worse shape than you are Elliot."

"If you'd rather walk, by all means, get out of the car."

"Shut up and drive, asshole."

Conflict. Always the source of his defeat. Supposedly, it leads to a greater depth of character, but Elliot knows better than that. Criticism and blame leads to resentment. He's constantly struggling to fight for his identity. He wonders who hurts more, the woman he loves, or the one that he married.

* * *

Munch is still at his desk when Olivia arrives back at the precinct. He's still busy and he still seems to be mulling over something or rather. Their captain is fawning over the mess. Apparently, he's of the opinion that it was immaculately spawned amidst their haste to evacuate the room.

"Where's your partner, Benson?"

Olivia raises her head from the sheet of paper directly within his line of sight. She's seething. This is not the way it was meant to be, Elliot gave his word that they'd be alright.

"When did I become Elliot's keeper? He's a big boy; he can take care of himself, Captain."

"Well when you see him, Detective, be sure to tell him that I'm looking for him. He's not going anywhere until he's finished these DD-5's that just happened to be left lying on his desk. It's the least he can do given the circumstances."

"Right, DD-5's, Elliot, Got ya." She waves him off with a flick of her wrist and Cragen does a double take. Sure, he's used to the Benson- Stabler dynamic as it were, but it appears that not all seems to be well in the world of New York's finest.

He'll keep an eye on it for now, but he knows that these things usual straighten themselves out. Somewhere along the line, one of the pair struck a chord. The stamp of nobility was directed upon their courage and ability to make it last. Now he fears that the root of their creative act has been spoilt and their energies misdirected. His Officers of law need to depend on each other. They'll do well to remember that.

"Olivia, go home."

"No, I'm good, Cap. Wouldn't say no to some take out though."

He feels a sudden rush of paternity. He's learnt a lot about Olivia, he's learnt a lot about himself during their times together. A mentor, a friend, they were each other's support system. He'll never forget the first time he saw her cry. They say you only get one set of parents, but he knows that being a father is so much more than mere genetic donation. Its history, a shared suffering, and a reflection of everything he ever wanted.

His cheeks rise, the corners of his mouth tip his eyes and he whispers to himself.

"Anything for you, Olivia, anything for you my girl."


	4. Chapter 4

**Don't own them, just sharing.**

**Thanks to G for the read through. **

**Thanks again for your wonderful reviews, I'm so inspired.  
**

* * *

He knows that she's already taken her second trip to the ladies room and that she's still on her first mug in the space of one sitting. Recollection stirs in the back of his mind and he shakes his head, dislodging the propaganda that's long lain dormant as his peripheral vision escorts her down that mundane corridor yet again.

He's not prepared for her return, and when she's seated comfortably, rifling precariously through her notes he thrusts his assault.

"How long?" he asks over the top of her computer screen.

"How long what?"

His fingers fumble with his keyboard, his brow is furrowed and he tries to maintain his breathing. He's concentrating, his palms are sweating and his heart is beating out a samba. All he needs is an authentic German Oompah band to set up shop outside his window.

"You're kidding me, right? Father of five, you think I can't see the signs?"

"Honestly, Elliot. I have no idea what you're talking about."

He slams his fist down into the warn timber, his knuckles taking the brunt before he stands, looming over her.

"How long has it been, Liv? What, eight, nine weeks?"

Her response is immediate. "Seven, apparently. And five days," she adds as an afterthought.

And there it is. Confirmation.

Beer, he needs beer. Social lubricant, the throat anointing fluid that accompanies the ritual hysteria. Escape with the boys and sink a few cold ones. His central processes accommodate the necessary data and his legs are instructed to march. He's half way around the block before he even realises where he is.

* * *

Olivia sucks up a deep breath and exhales on a whimper. Her gaze settles upon the frames that litter Elliot's desk. Family portraits, memories etched into time, like a shop window exposing fine wares, layer upon layer of past and present. The people he holds in the highest regard.

She begrudgingly concedes the image of Elliot, a child at his feet, eyes of blue that pierce the sky and ribbons of curls, tinged with wild fire. They laugh together; the wind in their sails carries them as they dream of exotic horizons. Her hand collides with the side of her head. _Stupid._

She agonises over whether he'll ever add to his mantle of prides and joys, not that is particularly matters anymore. He's made his decision, but she won't let that defeat her.

She swings into the Captains office, but Cragen doesn't seem to notice, he's buried beneath a stack of documents, his duty to every good citizen. One good man determined to defend freedom.

"Cap, I need to talk to you."

"Ok, what's wrong? And where's Elliot? Did you two have another fight, because I'm not sure I can bail him out again, Olivia."

"Actually, it's ... You know what, never mind. Sorry I bothered you, Captain."

His ball point ceases, the hasty snap echoes and his eyes are trained upon her. She silently curses. Never should have opened her mouth.

"Olivia?"

"Elliot, it's Elliot."

He offers her a seat, but she declines, preferring instead to stay on her feet, she's become accustomed to the motion of a spirited retreat.

"Olivia, it's not like you to hold back feelings, quite unlike you to be perfectly honest. Why don't you just get to the point? I'll see what I can do to help."

She laughs at her own problems, everybody else will soon enough. She wants to feel pain, wants to weep, but making light of such a situation seems quite fitting. She's human, she makes mistakes. How quickly the mighty fall.

"I'm pregnant."

She unveils her hand, like a dirty little secret exposed to the light. Articulating seems to make it more acceptable. It's out in the open now, but she wonders if, perhaps there was good reason to harbour such truths after all.

"Ok. And what does that have to do with Elliot?"

She looks at him as if he's ill. Perhaps he's gone mad; maybe he's just experienced a senior's moment. She doesn't think that's beyond reasonable doubt.

The crash of the heavy door startles him from his musings and he's surprised to catch the back of Olivia's form as she disappears from sight. He chastises himself privately. How had he missed the warnings? Obvious signs of agitation, the disruption, least of all the space between them. Elliot was shutting down, tuning out. When the Dodgers left, it wasn't quite as simple as the loss of a team. It was the total destruction of social culture.

Don decides best to leave Elliot to his own devices. He'd established his own coping mechanism long ago. Uncertainty will always be a part of his taking charge, but this baby deserves better and he knows that Elliot's a responsible man.

She's back in her seat when he finds her, rubbing her temple with trembling fingers. She's silent, hidden within the folds of oblivion. He knows she's at the precipice.

"Pack up your things and get out of here, Benson. Your sick day just started."

"I'm fine ..."

He cuts her off, outranking her to his advantage.

"That's an order. Go and take care of yourself."

She's reluctant to leave, but given the circumstances, she really doesn't want to be here when Elliot returns so she tidies her desk and bundles her belongings. She doesn't look back as she reaches the side walk.

* * *

Fin's disgruntled. First Elliot, now Liv. That leaves himself and Munch to man the phones, shuffle the papers and pick up the perps. That's not cool in his book.

"What's wrong with our girl?"

Cragen shrugs. "Sick."

"Right, she's sick and I'm Vanilla Ice."

Cragen shrugs again. He's anything if non committal. "She's pregnant." He leaves the dear Detectives eating his dust.

When the particles settle and the two extract their jaws from the floor, Fin is the first to breach the prevailing thaw.

"Ok Munchster. You're the man in the know, who's your money on?"

His recovery is flawless. "Stabler."

Tutuola smirks before he extends his hand.

"Fifty says you're on, brother."

* * *

Infomercials rule the cable network at this hour of the morning, but Olivia is restless and there's nothing to do at this time of night besides flipping channels. She hears the knock after a few moments; it startles her and she turns away from the Food Network.

"Damn uniforms, don't they know I'm not on call."

The stench that greets her makes her toes curl and her belly buckle.

"Elliot, what are you doing here? It's four a.m."

"I think, Liv, that there are some things we need to talk about." He's unsteady on his feet and he slurs his words.

"Kids," he says, "kids, they bump into things, they laugh, they cry, they piss themselves, they even vomit."

She stares at him. This is not Elliot, nor a sober man's thoughts.

"Elliot, you're drunk. Go home to Kathy."

"What's so unpleasant about being drunk, Liv? Kids, babies: they can be disgustingly unpleasant."

"Didn't stop you from having sex with your ex-wife, did it Elliot." She's playing fire with fire, careful not to burn herself. The flames are pretty, but always fierce with this one.

"I love my kids." He does. He still remembers the day that Kathy laid news of Maureen upon him.

"Great, good. Go home and tell them that. You're not welcome here."

"You can't do this without me, Olivia. I won't let you, it's my kid too."

"I know my rights, Elliot. I choose to exercise them."

He's still pounding on the front door as she moves through to her room. She throws herself under the comforter and burrows into the pillows as if she'll dissolve into an endless night. Love makes fools of everyone, her most of all. All the rules are broken.


	5. Chapter 5

**Dont own them, I'm just sharing. **

**Let me assure you that Chapter 6 (As well as 7) has been finished, and I'm shocked and ashamed to find myself admitting that it was not what I was expecting. I think I'm experiencing Season 12 Angst already XD**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

Eggs, sunny side up, mean protein for her baby Benson, amino acids, important for development of the fetal brain. Smothered with mustard, they just taste good.

The hardcover beside her plate of morning sustenance illustrates the wonders of modern pregnancy. _What To Expect When You're Expecting_ is far too cliché. Her fingers glide across the expanse of still flat abdomen as she recites.

"No deli meats, no soft cheese, no raw meats. _What! No sushi?" _She grumbles. "Elliot might actually like this book; it seems to be the twelve commandments." She imitates Elliot. "No milk product shall go unpasteurised, lest the lord smite thee."

Her fingers flex as she presses her palm into the flesh of her belly. Her midsection is a little thicker, her breasts, positively blossoming. She could pass it off as bloating, but there's no denying it anymore. She's going to have a baby. The prospect is a little terrifying, but she remembers the motto, be prepared. It's served her well; she can't see any reason why it should betray her now.

She fidgets about in her chair. She's uncomfortable, her concentration span has slowly dissipated and try as she might, she can't shake the feelings that plague her waking moments. When did she start feeling sorry for herself? It's extremely frustrating and she wonders how the fuck Kathy ever managed five of them.

"How do they expect me to present a swollen bladder when I have this frequent urge to pee?"

* * *

The paper slip that adorns the thin mattress is scratchy, she can't even move for fears she'll tear the parchment in two. There's a plastic uterus intimidating her from the other side of the room, but there's no way she'll be fast enough to draw guns from her position. She's taunted, every which direction, the worlds up in her face. No point in blaming the messenger.

"Detective Benson, it's lovely to see you today."

Woman to woman, a female Obstetrician was always on the cards. She finds that her hands tremble when she realises that she hadn't stopped to consider whether or not this might be Kathy's doctor. Thank the lord for confidentiality. She can't violate her promises, if there's one thing Olivia knows, it's the law.

She smiles, though the doubt is tainting her feminine features. "It's Olivia."

"Olivia," she looks up from her notes, the expression on her face plain to see. "I think it's best if I get to the point. Your age has significantly increased the risk of complications for this pregnancy. I don't want to frighten you, but I'd be lax in my position if I didn't provide you with relevant information.

She's stunned, perhaps even a little dazed. She tries to block her ears but the whisper is teasing, provoking audibility. She can't smother it, she must look this evil in the face, but for all the experience she has in these situations, she's utterly lost.

"... Miscarriage, the risk is twenty five percent greater than a woman under the age of thirty five, fetal distress, low birth weight baby, Down syndrome ... Olivia? Olivia?"

"I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

The plump woman pats her hand soothingly. "I see you've not detailed the father on your prenatal documents. Who's supporting you through this, Olivia?"

Wrong question, lady, because this is Olivia's opportunity and nobody, not even Elliot Stabler is going to rain on her parade. She holds her head strong; she's not going to cry. She's just got to keep keeping on.

"It's complicated. He's my partner, my professional partner. He's ... he's married." It's moments like these that she wants to fight all the more, her claws have retracted for now, but she's in for the long haul.

"Say no more, I'll ensure that you are receiving optimal care."

When the Doppler makes its appearance, all grievances are but dust on the wind. She focuses on the rhythm, like feet hitting the pavement, and her breath catches in her chest. She's made mistakes before, but the poignant melody of this static fluctuation will never be considered rotten. It's pure love.

Life is one of those precious, fleeting gifts, it can change in a heartbeat, and today, this moment, is proof of that.

"That's a good, strong rhythm, Olivia. One hundred and forty beats per minute. That's exactly what I'd hope to see at this point in the gestation process."

Perhaps, there's something to be said for Stabler genes after all.

* * *

Don passes his desk in a flurry of activity. He's fairly sure the man doesn't sleep "Stabler, my office, now."

Elliot follows, ever the dutiful child. There's a man, a tall man, his bleached locks slick with gel, his fingertips tickle the edge of the Captains desk and the first word that comes to mind is jackass.

"Elliot, this is Boris Johnson. He'll be your new partner."

There's silence as the built in shock proof shit detector fails to register. His brain shifts a gear and Elliot jumps for the save.

"So we're Miami Vice, now." He shakes the man's hand, abruptly. "Welcome to SVU."

As the impact of collision settles, and Boris makes good, to familiarise himself with the clan, Elliot finds that his legs refuse to co-operate and his conscience has suddenly kicked him a new one. The inner voice that warns him someone may be looking plays out like a tempered violin string. This is his chamber of justice.

* * *

"Cap?"

Cragen sighs. No good has ever come from being the middle man.

"She's gone. Transferred out two days ago, Elliot. A desk job with homicide."

"Cap, Olivia hates riding a desk; you know she needs to be in the field. How the fuck could you just let her go like that?"

_Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One._

"You're a father, Elliot. I thought you of all people would appreciate Olivia's condition."

Elliots nostrils flare, his breathing steadies and he pinches the bridge of his nose tightly.

"You know."

It's not a question.

"Yes."

Because, what else can Don say?

"You really fucked this one up, Stabler. Now get out of my sight before I change my mind about you."

"Don, I..." He falters.

"You've got work to do, Elliot. Better get to it."

"Right."


	6. Chapter 6

**Firstly, please let me say that I've been blown away by the response to this story. I write from the heart, and I have such awesome inspiration. Thank you for the comments, reviews and support. **

**Thanks to G for the read through.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

Olivia's surprised to find that when the knock at the front door comes, she's still able to manoeuvre herself just as she had been four months prior to this moment. She's seems to be the epitome of stealth, even with her puddin' belly.

"Kathy."

Crap.

"Hello Olivia."

She wonders if there's some bizarre family etiquette she's supposed to observe in these situations. Wife to the father of her unborn child, mother of said child's five siblings. Protocol has always been her first line of defence.

"Kathy, what are you doing here? I ... I don't work with Elliot anymore, I can't tell you where he is."

Kathy simply nods. She's aware of the changes that have taken place around her world, the fact that her husband has been partnered off with another man, leaving Olivia free to delve into her own little world.

"I know, I think we need to have a chat, Olivia. Do you mind if I come in?"

Olivia thinks that Kathy is calm, far too calm for her own damn good. Yelling she could understand, striking, a nice hard slap to the cheek, anything other than this silent treatment. With Elliot she's traipsed into the eye of the storm, but this, the unknown truly scares her.

Kathy doesn't waste her time and suddenly, Olivia feels as if she's living someone else's life. You can't change the past, but it's quite possible that you can ruin the present by worrying about the future.

"I see you're starting to show a little," her hand waves, vaguely, in the direction of Olivia's distended middle.

"Yes. Just about sixteen weeks. Look, Kathy, I'm not sure why you're here, but if it's about Elliot, you've come to the wrong place."

She's pleased to notice Kathy sitting; she's far less intimidating that way.

"I know it's his, Olivia. I know that baby is Elliot's."

Olivia tries in vain to deny that her words are little more than a furphy, she barely gets the chance when Kathy holds up her hand.

"No, please, just let me speak." She sighs deeply and Olivia swallows the lump that has risen in her throat, her mouth is dry and there's little she can do to stop this. She hates feeling powerless.

"I know that this baby is my husbands, and I'm ok with that. Do you honestly think that my husband would let you carry another man's child? We both know he wouldn't. Elliot has no idea that I know, he definitely doesn't know that I've wanted to come and see you."

So, that's it, she thinks. Kathy has come to read her rights, to pack up her worthless mortal possessions and drop kick her ass to the city limits. She's come to run the law lady out of her very own town.

"I'm sorry, Kathy." She blurts. "I don't want anything from Elliot. I've moved on, I'm happy with my life."

What's one measly lie if it helps to quench the suffering of countless others? God, Olivia. When did you become a freakin' martyr?

"Olivia, I'm not, by principle, a jealous woman. But I've always envied the relationship you have with Elliot. I know you think it's the fact that the two of you are partners, but the truth is that the two of you have always been so much more. I see the way he looks at you. That's exactly how he used to look at me, Olivia."

This really can't be healthy for either of them.

"I'm not sure what you want me to say. Elliot means nothing to me. We were partners once and that's all the history we have."

"He's the father of this child, this child who's a brother or sister to my own children. Please, don't throw that away."

Olivia stands, her feet willing her to move, all she's ever known is the thrill of the chase, her legs as they carry her over hill and dale, the wind in her face as she leaves the scene of the crime. She's a runaway, plain and simple. There aint nothin' gonna tie her down.

"I want to tell you a secret, I've never told another soul. I love my children, I do, so much so, and soon, you'll understand. But Eli, my baby, he was never meant to be here. He's by every definition, a mistake, but I owe his life to you, Olivia."

She's speechless. Utterly, completely. This woman owes her nothing. Her head starts to spiral and before she knows it Kathy is pulling her into a seat and telling her to rest her head between her knees. The woman has birthed five children. One might think the odds that she'd know how uncomfortable this position was were pretty good.

"Light headedness is common."

"Sorry, I don't know what came over me."

The instant Kathy returns with a glass of water, a startling realisation befuddles Olivia. Kathy harbours no feelings of resentment; she's not here to cause trouble. Strength of character means the ability to overcome, to hide hurt feelings and to forgive. No grudges, no harm.

But, Olivia reasons with herself, this is not the happy mother's club and Elliot is no longer her concern.

"I think you should go home to your husband and your children, Kathy. "

Kathy relents, it's taken ten years, but she knows better than to argue with a police detective, but as she leans against the door frame, she's intent on saying her peace.

"Elliot is a good father, Olivia. Don't keep him from knowing this child. He'll be upset with himself, but he'll begrudge you even more. My husband is not nearly as accepting as I am." She's about to land the winning blow. "Please, just think about it, at the very least for the sake of your child. Oh, and Olivia, if my instincts are right, that's a little boy Stabler. I've carried enough to know."

Olivia smiles despite her frustration. "No, Kathy, this little one," she brings a hand to graze her belly, "is a Benson."


	7. Chapter 7

**So, a double post today as I'll be sleeping this week away after my chemo. It's the longest to date, and this is one of my favourites. It's a glimpse of hope and as the Doctor once said, Hope is a good emotion! **

**Cheers to G for the read through! She's been Ace. **

* * *

Elliot misses his children. The new apartment seems so boring without the distraction. Eli's plush purple Barney litters the hall, Richard has eaten him out of house and home and he's pretty sure there's a laundry pile that's only hours away from evolving into its very own species.

A rare moment away from the office and all he can boast is that he sat around pulling pilings off of his PD hoodie. He has time to reflect upon the past few months, Olivia and the pregnancy, Kathy, now that was the surprise to end all state of amazement. The portrayal of his vices made manifest to his eyes, the visible reflection of his soul. It's honest to god, food for thought.

His ex-wife had offered up forgiveness, explaining that love for another means letting go of expectations, acceptance and celebration of the others being. You can't plan the type of deep love that results in a child. Fatherhood may not have been a conscious decision, but the consequences of his act had long been deep seeded.

They're amicable, which is more than he can say for some.

He finds himself standing in the spare room. Stars? Shooting stars? Cars could have been good, little pink ones, maybe blue, planes and trains and teddies and teacups. He's definitely getting too old for this. He has to depend on his faith. Children are a heritage from the lord, fruit of the womb, a reward. Blessed be he.

He checks himself before he can progress down that path. There's no point crying over spilt milk, what's done is done and he has to acknowledge that, for the first time in his life, his biological child will come into this world without him. He's a father of five, but God help him, number six will live in his heart.

Yet another fuck up to add to the tally, maybe it's for the best.

He lies upon the bed, one arm tucked up under his pillow, supporting his head while the other flips his ring like it's a quarter. There's no adventure in betting that the toss will come up heads or tails. Love is a fine emotion, but the average human mind is confusing beyond measure, let alone this one.

When he wakes, the symbol of his fleeting life is on the other side of the room, but it's the chink in the wall that will be his reminder.

* * *

Another day, another dollar, another pension cheque to tide him over when the kids bleed him dry and his underwear is all he has left to his name.

"What ya got for me, Jonesy?"

The slender man in uniform, the one who looks like his life has been little more than a worthless endeavor, smiles warmly.

"It's this way, Detective. Homicide called it in, oh gosh, no more than a half hour ago. It was cut and dry until they found the, ah, the condoms."

He squats to a crouch before the ashen victim. His lips are blue, but he doesn't appear to have been here long; few hours, tops.

"Where's Homicide?" He asks. "Nipped off for donuts again?"

"Homicide is right here, Detective Stabler."

Her hair is dull, lifeless, her clothes are disheveled where they lay snug against her body, but she's a vision. He scans her body, knowing that she watches. That unmistakable pout, her jutting breasts, he doesn't have to guess how tender. When his eyes catch the shape of her belly, the curve of the swell and the swing of the hips that will soon be charged with the birthing of his child, words are inadequate.

He's pretty rubbish when it comes to doing math in his head, but counting up the weeks of miserable agenda, he's come to second trimester.

"Liv."

"Stabler, this one's yours."

She's never spoken words so true.

"Liv, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be behind a desk? Sitting on a chair or something, I know how tiring this can be."

She's trying to ignore him. She blinks in all seriousness, because Cragen told her he'd be sending Johnson. She's had no time to plan her approach, so she has to play the professional card.

"So, your victim is Caucasian male, late teens, no distinguishing marks, but we found semen, the condoms were spread around, we're not sure if the fluids belong to the victim or our perp."

She's good at this; she should be good, she learned from the best.

"Olivia, please. Don't do this."

Her poker face gives way to nothing, and though his eyes are terrifically haunting, she remains steadfast, unshaken, like the flame of a lamp in a windless place, she ensures her survival. It's just one of the things he loves most about her unwavering spirit.

She shakes her head. "I have to go, Elliot. You know how to reach my department if you come up with anything relevant to the pending case."

_Lord, give me strength._

"Son of a ... Look, Olivia, please, let's talk. I think you owe me that much."

"Goodbye, Elliot. Have a nice day. Tell your wife I said hi."

She's walking away and he meets her stride for stride, not yet willing to let her out of his sight. "I left, I moved out of the house, Olivia. Kathy, she knows, she knows everything."

She stops, her feet cease all movement and she snaps her head in his direction. She knows that Kathy knows, probably did before himself, but it doesn't change the fact that he hurt her and it won't ever mean that they'll be playing happy families.

"Good luck, Elliot. I told you to go home to your wife, to make good with the kids, but it seems as though you're too stupid to heed good advice. Do the kids know?"

The look on his face, his silence speaks to her.

"Sort it out, or leave me the hell alone. You're not my keeper and I'm not into favours."

* * *

The moonlight stains the painted glass, tapered wicks flicker like a thousand worlds that litter the night sky, a splendid torch, which he holds for the moment, and thinks that many candles can be kindled from just one.

The old pews creak and the tall ceilings seem to extend all the way to the heavens, as he leans heavily upon the antique bench; he remembers that he exists only by the supreme Lord's power.

"Forgive me Father, I have sinned. It's been ... well, it's been a while since my last confession."

"Go ahead, my son."

He's always tried to go forth in the way of the lord, but he's found himself more often than not defying the word of his god.

"I've hurt a lot of people, father. I've been impure and unjust. Committed adultery, practiced sex outside of my marriage, well ... practiced isn't really the right word to use. I've broken my vows and fallen for another, Father. I feel so ashamed. I did them both wrong."

There's a brief silence and Elliot rings his hands in his lap. Confession, that's what this is all about.

"The Lord your God is with you, my son, and He is mighty to save. Do your duties as you know best, and leave the rest, unto the Lord."

He shakes his head. "Father, there's a child, my child, by another woman."

The priest sighs, his pain, evident.

"Roger, please man, tell me what to do."

"Elliot, every good gift and every perfect gift is from above. You're a good guy, Elliot. I owe you my life, and though every strand of my moral fiber is screaming at me, to take you under my wing and show you the way of the Lord, to help you to pursue righteousness - what that tour did to us, Elliot."

"I know, I know."

"Continue steadfastly in prayer, give thanks and ask the Lord to show you the way, because when I needed him, He gave me you, Elliot."

Elliot closes his eyes, the image of Olivia, round with his child, the first thing that invades the prevailing night.

"I love her, Rog. Kathy and I ... she gave me five beautiful children, she was the love of my life, but something happened, I think Olivia was sent to me, she saved me, Roger."

A Bible rustles as the priest flicks through to the book of Corinthians. He's bound by his promise, to lead Elliot down the path of enlightenment, forgiveness.

"Love is patient, Elliot, love is kind. Never envious," he thinks about Kathy, how gracious she's been and how he broke her heart. "There is nothing love cannot face, Elliot." He thinks about Olivia, about what they share and where they're going.

Love will endure.


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks to G for the read through.**

**I don't own them, I just share.**

* * *

"Dad, the whole, 'your mother and I love you' speech has seen better days. It's getting old. We're not kids anymore."

Elizabeth Stabler sits patiently on her father's brand new leather chaise. She holds her younger brother in her lap and wonders idly, how Elliot even found the time to actually shop at JC Penny. She listens to her oldest brothers insistent whining, but that's momentarily replaced by the thought this leather is so last season. Sure, it's cushy enough, but genuine leather is so hard to look after.

"Daddy," she interrupts, "nobody likes leather anymore. It's all about microfiber."

Dickie rolls his eyes, - _that was random, sis._

"Are you sure? The guy that delivered it said he had one just like it. Told me it was a classic, Liz."

"Yeah," her eyes are trained upon him, as if he should know something she does. "If you're old."

It's Elliots turn to roll his eyes. Like father, like son. "Anyway … back to the reason we're sitting here. It's about Olivia. Your mother told you that she's having a baby, yeah?"

"Course she did. Is everything ok?" Lizzie furrows her brow and focuses her full attention.

Elliot's been brought down by worse before, held at gunpoint, the butt of his own gun pushed against his quivering temple. Bad situations can change; worry is like a rocking chair. Gives you something to do, but you don't often get very far. His children though; he worries about what they will become tomorrow.

"Liz," he can't bear to look at her, he's so utterly ashamed. "Liz, I got Liv pregnant. The baby she's having is mine, your brother, or sister."

Lizzie's lungs are tight with each expiration, her pores, seep oxygen as she steadies to stay afloat. Fear is as familiar to her as the air she breathes.

"Ok, Dad. That's ok," she tells him. She's fallen from the sky, but she'll live. The details of her parents' divorce were always going to be messy. She's old enough to understand that love is a matter of chance, that if it makes her dad happy, he should hold onto that. Family life is full of crises, the ups, the downs, she's no stranger to it.

"Yeah, it's ok, Dad. I mean, it's a bit weird, but Liv has always been important to us."

"Thanks, Liz. But it's not what you're thinking, sweetheart. We're not together."

It's Dickie's turn to toss his chip atop the pile now. His call, all in, let's shuffle. There's no doubt that he's a chip off the old block.

"What, so she just used you to have a baby, or you just let her do it, Dad? How long, Dad? How long have you been sleeping with your partner? How long before you decided that it was ok just to walk away like it never happened?"

"Rick … there are times in a man's life when he needs to ask for help." He sifts through the dialogue in his head, making deliberate choices. "Olivia was the only person who could help me. You know the situation between your mother and I. You're old enough to know better, son. I know I taught you better that this."

"You taught me to be a man, to honour the people I love, to always put my family first." He's got no idea why he's angry, why his grief is causing him to lash out like a lout. Anger is an extension of sadness. His sadness is painful because Eli is not yet old enough to realize that a boy needs his father, that without his father he's nothing. Elliot took that away from him, from them both.

For so long he'd thought of himself as the prodigal son, when in essence, his father had been the one who'd left, who was lost without hope for survival.

He can't hold this grievance against his father. Not when he has returned. The human heart at whatever age, opens only to the heart that opens in return.

* * *

Elliot clears his throat for the umpteenth time before knocking on the apartment door. He can hear her shuffling around inside, he imagines it's cumbersome now, harder for her, his child getting to be so big now.

The door opens for him and it's like he's finally been able to lift the latch on Pandora's Box. Oh, the possibilities. Riches abounding, beauty surpassed, joy beyond imagination. He trembles with anticipated delight.

"Hi." _Moron, is that the best you can do?_

"Elliot, what are you doing here? It's late. You should probably go."

He scratches the back of his neck; he seems to do that when he's anxious now.

"Liv, I uh … well, I wondered if there was anything I could do for you. You need someone to be there for you? For your doctor's appointments or something?"

"No, I'm good, thanks."

_Strike one._

"I'd really like to be there. You must be about twenty five weeks; do you know what you're having?" _Good one, keep it neutral, on her terms. Shut your yap and play it cool, Stabler!_

"No. Sorry, Elliot. Look I'm a bit tired, so I might go to bed. I'll see you around, take care of yourself."

_Think … come on old man._

"I spoke to the kids last week. They want to come and see you. Wasn't prepared or Dickies reaction to be honest, but he came around. Threatened to castrate me if it wasn't a boy."

He can see the corners of her mouth twitch, her chest heave as she fights to hold back a smirk.

"Putting you out to pasture already, Stabler? I thought you had a few good years left in you yet."

"Olivia, I'm sorry. I … she's all I've known for the better part of twenty five years." _Jerk Face, now you've done it!_ "I want to be here for this baby, for the both of you."

Typical man still doesn't realize why she's pushing him away. It took years for them to build a trust that took him mere seconds to annihilate. It had never been about Kathy or his kids and she knows that her choices have contributed. Every action has a reaction. His attitude had been the last straw.

"It's ok, Elliot. I'm fine, there's nothing I need. Take care of yourself, and spend some time with your kids. They need you."

"Maybe you should practice what you preach, Olivia." _Do'h._

"Good night, Elliot."

It's time now, to test the theory that when one door closes, another one opens in its place. Time to start looking for a niche carved just for them.

* * *

When Elliot and Boris return from strip joint down the road the next day, there's a crisp white pouch, sealed, and waiting on his desk top.

"I keep tellin' ya, John. I'm not in cahoots with the damn government and Diet Coke is not an aphrodisiac for the senile."

"Can't be too careful, Stabler. Fancy, official looking envelope like that on with your name on it, got to be from the President. Whose ass did you save this time, Hercules?"

He edges his pinky under the gummy seam of the card stock, teasing the outline with a gentle tug. The paper tears in two. He retrieves the insert, his eyes wide, his hand tremors and his body shakes uncontrollably.

"Well, what is it? You got the key to the city in there? Been knighted or something?"

"Christ," mumbles Fin, "I hope not. Sir my ass."

Elliot places the print off face up on the table; his fingers trace the outline of the most beautiful creature in the universe. Little hands, plain as day, little legs, two of them in fact. There's a blue post it stuck to the corner of the film. He tugs gently; it comes away from the page.

_This is your son. Liv._

Elliot beams, his eyes crinkle and for once in his life, the sun doesn't shine out of his ass.

"This, gentlemen, is my son. Stabler number six, Benson number one."

Munch peers over his shoulder, his hand coming down to slap Elliot on the back. "Still got it you dog."

Fin is suitably unimpressed. "Man, that's the last time I lay money on your table. Mother fucker."

"That he is my friend. That he is."


	9. Chapter 9

**I don't own them. I just share.**

* * *

"Da-da." This inner voice at the end of the day comforts him, and he smiles. The harmonious voice of creation is an echo of his invisible world.

"Da-da!" The child raises his voice, trying to capture his father's attention.

Eli's chubby little legs carry the small boy as he toddles with determination, in the direction of his father. His mother follows, cautious of his ambitious steps. She knows from experience, the fate that befalls those in the heat of the moment.

Elliot seems surprised to see his youngest son, but raises him to his hip regardless. "Hey champ, what are you doing here?"

"He's with me." A voice catches his attention and he looks over his shoulder to see Kathy standing at a distance.

"What's wrong, is he alright? What's happened? Kathy?"

She loves him, and because she loves him, she decides better to have him hate her for lying. They can't go back. She may as well go forward with lies.

"We were just looking at the facilities. I'm considering a transfer."

Elliot cocks his head. His day job provides that he's paid for his suspicion.

"I thought you were happy at Mercy?"

"I thought when you took your ring off that meant you renounced the right to enquire, Elliot."

He clears his throat. The pale band of skin that adorns his ring finger seems so bright now, like a neon sign that alludes to his current status.

"I worry. You know I'm that type of man, Kath."

She wasn't expecting this to be so hard. _Count your blessings – they're valuable._

Elliot strokes the crown of his sons head. He still remembers the circumstances surrounding his boys' birth. Still thanks the lord every day. "Are you being good for mummy, little man?" His fingers dance across the small boys' tummy and Eli erupts into a fit of giggles. For now, the pain is concealed. The black spot that resides within his heart is stuffed full of cotton wool and plastered over with the spoils of family.

After a moment or two, there's a new face apologizing for the interruption and advising Elliot that they may need to get back to the matter at hand.

"She's agitated. I think she's pretty upset, man."

_Man_. Who the fuck does this dip shit think he is?

"Sorry bud, but dad's got to get back to work. One of the bad guys hurt a nice lady."

"Elliot, don't tell him things like that, you'll give him nightmares."

"He's fine, Kathy. Don't be so damn melodramatic."

Elliot is reluctant to let the boy go, can't even fathom the thought that once he lets go, he'll turn around to find that his little boy grew up and he wasn't even around to bear witness. He's so sick of losing everything that's ever meant something.

* * *

"…Times like these I really wish Liv were here."

Johnson looks up from the Nurses station where he's hunched over the front counter trying to scour more information.

"It could do with a bit of a woman's touch. Bet she's quite a soft touch too, eh Stabler?" He winks.

Elliot swallows down the bile that threatens his internal organs.

"Benson was, is," he corrects himself, "is a damn fine cop, one of this city's best, Johnson. She'll be missed, but she's going to be a great mother."

"How do you do it, man? How do you just let her walk away? If it was my misers, and she took off with my bun in her oven, I'd chain her ass to the bed and spoon feed her myself."

A Doctor approaches and Elliot turns his back, adding under his breath, "I hope you die in your sleep, asshole."

* * *

"So, she's hysterical and you had to sedate her? That's just peachy. How are we supposed to get a statement now, Doctor?"

"She's three months pregnant, Detective. She's in shock. Her husband just attacked her, tried to get rid of the baby. It's nothing personal."

Johnson taps his foot impatiently, the rubber soles squelching on the flimsy lino.

"I suggest you come back later, Detectives. She'll be out for a while, we need to monitor her."

Elliot's sure to pass on his card. "Name and number. Call us when she's awake."

"Of course," the physician nods.

The corridor is wide, though the walk seems strangely familiar. Johnson wonders if this is what it's like to be on death row. The conveyed sense that a man knows his time is near. If the squall that seems to echo in is ear is any indication, he's glad he's not a father, and he thinks it's about time Elliot put his runners on and left the building. Escape from this self imposed prison of face the possibility of life without parole.

"Dude, I gotta say that I'm glad it's you havin a kid, not me. Reckon I'm too young anyway, twenty five, that's like puberty for a guy or somethin'."

But Elliot's not listening, and Elliot's not walking and when Johnson's nose ends up in Elliot's back, he's clearly not impressed.

"Not cool, El, Man. What was that, some kinda gay crap?"

When Elliot doesn't reply, he turns his head in the direction of Elliots vision. He shakes his head and his eyes focus on something. He's pretty sure that Elliot isn't looking at the prissy little flower scrawled so eloquently in incandescent marker on the door, but rather the letters set beside it.

Benson.

"Shit, Elliot, man," Boris moves in a flash, but Elliot out strides the weedy kid before he even has a chance to dissuade his partner.

"Elliot, you can't go in there, man. It's a private room. We both know that. It could be any Benson, you don't even know if it's Olivia."

"One way to find out."

Elliot draws his badge with trembling fingers; his heart throbs a wayward beat, out of synch with the rest of time's syncopation. The door knob visibly rattles as his fingers convulse with unstoppable contractions.

"I'm sorry sir, but this is a private room, you're not allowed in here."

The pleas fall on deaf ears as he breathes her name. "Liv."

"Elliot, what are you doing here? How did you even know I was here?"

He's by her side within a stone's throw. His hand still shakes as he grasps for her fingers.

"Liv, what's going on? Why are you here? Why didn't you call me?"

Johnson stands beside the door, completely unsure of his involvement. He's poised to strike should this get out of hand.

"Elliot, there's no need for you to be here. I'm fine, and I'm sure you're busy." Boris nods behind Elliot's back then shrugs. He's never really been good at charades.

"What's going on, Liv?" He looks across the bed. "Sorry," he drops Olivia's fingers to shake the female Doctor's hand. "Elliot Stabler, I'm …"

Olivia cuts him off with a scowl and a glare and a noise that erupts from her throat like she's stalking her prey.

"Doctor Parker, this is Elliot, my ex partner." The other woman realises the emphasis on the words ex and partner. She understands now. This is the father. She plays along.

"Nice to meet you."

"Liv, please, tell me what's going on. Why are you here?"

Olivia sighs. She's too weak to retaliate. She doesn't have the strength to fight him right now.

"Would you like me to explain it?" The older woman, the obstetrician, asks?

Olivia nods and Elliot focuses his attention on the speaker.

"I was concerned when Olivia came in for her last sonogram. The baby does not seem to be growing at the rate it should. We call the condition Intrauterine Growth Restriction. It's quite common, but requires frequent monitoring. It's caused by any number of issues."

"Like?" He asks quietly, almost passively.

"High blood pressure, problems with the placenta, stress, genetic issues."

Elliots heart is in his throat. He can feel it trying to escape, like he's not taking on air and he's struggling to breathe. And then another thought hits him. Kathy. She knows. That's why she was here. It all makes sense, he knew there was no way that she'd pack her job in.

"I can't believe it." He thinks, but the words have already dissolved on his tongue. The bite of the sting is like poison when his words strike the ferocity of the chilly air. "Kathy, you told Kathy didn't you. I'm the father of this baby, and you call my ex wife. What the hell were you thinking, Olivia?"

"Elliot, don't do this. I think it's time for you to go now."

Elliot backs away from the bed, from the lies and deceit that have tainted his world.

"Christ, Olivia. You don't think I deserve to know about my own god damn child. This is like some joke to you."

She's used to him raising his voice, she knows the Marine, the father, the cop, the man behind the façade. As he passes words around like she's hard of hearing, she realises that it's time for her voice to be heard."

"Who the hell do you think you are? Huh? Who the fuck, are you to come in here and tell me what I can and can't do." Her blood pressure is rising, but she's not about to take a back seat. "Let's talk, Elliot. Let's talk about the fact that you crawled into my bed, about the fact that you accused me of taking you away from your child, that you seem to think it's ok to have your cake and eat it too, or, how about the fact, that it's quite alright for you to give me a kidney, but it's not ok to give me a child. No, that's reserved solely for your wife, isn't it, Elliot. You know what, fuck you. You were still on file as my emergency contact. They couldn't reach you on your cell, so they called the house in Queens. Of course Kathy was going to find out. I didn't ask her to come here, and I certainly don't need her. I don't need either of you."

* * *

Attacked by the very ideas she'd thought she'd conquered long ago. She's so still. She closes her eyes. She's so tired of loving him.

The wind blows in her face and she sails with the breeze, she longs to find a place of rest, of sacred shelter, free of the storm that overshadows her dream.

Eloise Parker tends to her patient. Her hands are busy as she soothes the aching woman.

"I think, Mister Stabler, that it's time for you to leave. If you return, I'll be forced to call for security. I'm afraid your badge is no match for me. This is exactly the type of stress that's putting Olivia and her child at risk. I don't think you want that for your son, do you Elliot?"

Resistance is futile.

Johnson takes his arm and the cheap plastic blinds of the small Perspex window flap in the wake of their exit.

What has he done?


	10. Chapter 10

**I don't own them. Just sharing.**

* * *

"Thanks for meeting me."

"You're welcome."

He's watches her. The rise and fall of her chest, her fingers, splayed across the engorged domain of abdomen that bears her child. His eyes are upon her as if the world is watching.

"I guess you know why I asked you to come." She averts his gaze, his presence unknowingly emancipating some kind of secret. He knows where to find the information, and he knows how to use it.

He smiles.

"I do. Would you like to talk about it, Olivia?"

"I …" she hesitates, "I'm having a baby." She can almost laugh. Almost.

"I see that, congratulations. Do you want to tell me what's really on your mind?"

"It's the baby's father, George."

He's always liked Olivia, he's always known that she exists to make a difference, he finds himself torn between friend and professional.

"Elliot?"

"Oh he really is unbelievable. Is there anyone who doesn't know?"

Huang is privy to the Benson/Stabler relationship, the silent witness who testifies the passing of time. His memory illuminates reality, albeit, against the better instincts of his inner judge. When the frustration of helplessness seemed greatest, he was always there.

"He cares."

_"You had to choose between saving the little boy and saving Olivia."  
"Yeah but she didn't need me."  
"You didn't know that."  
"I wish I didn't."  
"Didn't what… didn't… care so much?"_

"Elliot only cares about himself. I thought you might have realised that by now."

"Does he know you're talking to me, Olivia?"

Now she truly does laugh.

"Oh please, I haven't seen him since his little outburst two weeks ago and I like it that way. He's a selfish bastard. I don't need that bullshit."

He has to draw from the depths of his understanding, challenge his own beliefs and use her own behaviour against her. He must employ open communication interactions. She needs to vent.

"You doubt his suitability as a father? He's done this five times before. Some might consider his credentials as important."

Genetics, she thinks, does not a father make. She's always thought genetics to be a pathetic excuse for adultery, brutality, dishonesty. Whatever else they can find to choc the blame up to. The role that Elliot had will be helpful when explaining why her son looks like his father, but that's about all he's been useful for in her mind.

"Why are you scared, Olivia?"

"I told him to go back to his wife, to be with his children and the whole time I was hoping that he wouldn't listen. That maybe, I'd be enough. What type of person does that make me?"

"It makes you human. You're able to express emotion. You're allowed to be selfish, Olivia, I wouldn't expect any less."

Olivia covers her face with her hand. She's hormonal, she's tired and right about now, she's not exactly sure what she should be feeling. Conflicting emotions are confusing, so many points of views to consider and she just needs some time to adjust.

She thinks about the relationship she had with her own mother. She knows that her mother cared, probably loved her in her own way, the way that it all very real, gave her the strength to face another day.

"You know, I didn't really have a particularly maternal role model, my mother, well, you know what happened there. She was a drunk."

For years she blamed her mother. For the lousy state of her life, for the fact that she told her that she'd amount to nothing just like her father had. Then she grew up, decided that her problems were her own and that she could control her destiny, that while it still hurt, she didn't have to blame her own mother.

Now she sits here, a woman, and wonders if she ever truly existed, if she does exist at all. A mother's children are portraits of herself.

The good Doctor wonders if he'd be better off with Elliot here. Elliot has always been the one to talk her round, and he's struggling. Not that he'll ever admit it.

"You're not your mother. People change, Olivia. You, you help people, make them better. I've seen it. We're all flawed, but you choose not to hide behind it."

"So what. Just because I'm not my mother doesn't mean I'm not capable of that. I'm capable of a lot where Elliot is concerned."

Suddenly, he finds himself struggling to hold his composure. It's taking all his strength just to keep eye contact with her, he'll be lucky if he doesn't yell come day's end.

"Olivia, you're not your mother, you will never be your mother. If you do this to yourself, you'll self destruct."

"I bet Kathy didn't have these issues."

Ah, at last, they've unearthed the crux of the matter.

"Do you think you have to compete with Kathy Stabler?"

She retaliates with a question of her own.

"Do you ever just get to be George, not Doctor Huang, not the one analysing absolutely every person he comes across. It's like I can see the gears grinding in your head."

Then she sighs. She's fatigued, the child within, sporadically making its presence known. "It's always been a two horse race, George, and Kathy's always been the favourite."

"What about now? What about today, Olivia? You're pregnant and I'm fairly sure I don't have to remind you that Elliot helped to make that child." He smiles, and his hand reaches across the great divide of table to touch hers, a gesture of comfort, of reassurance. "You've nothing to fear. He's right beside you. He always has been."

"I just need some time, to get used to the idea. I'm ten weeks away from the due date and I feel like I've done nothing. I can't accept Elliot, not yet."

"Just give it some time; you'll know what to do."

She worries that the time will never be right. That by letting herself do so, she's inevitably making it harder for herself. She doesn't want to waste her time. To wake up in twenty years and realise that she needed him all along and that her son resents her for omitting his father before he even took a flailing breath.

Procrastination is the thief of time.

"We're all here for you, Olivia, especially Elliot. We both know he can be a jackass at times, but I don't doubt the fact that he'd put you before anything else, both of you. All of his family."

What? Where did that come from, Huang?

"Guess I've got some thinking to do, huh." There's a pause. "So," she's the lady with the questions now. "What do you think about double cheese?"


	11. Chapter 11

**I don't own them. Just sharing.**

**The drama starts now.  
**

* * *

He's on the corner of Broadway and Thirty Eighth Street when the shrill tones of his cell begin to echo.

"Stabler."

"Elliot, its Sanchez."

He wonders what Homicide has fucked up now.

"What's up?"

Sanchez says a prayer, crosses his chest and hopes to God Elliot doesn't come after him. He's pretty sure that's one spar he won't come out of lightly.

"You seen Benson lately?"

Oh, that's right, because when her current partner can't keep tabs on her, they automatically assume the ex partner does.

"I haven't seen her for weeks, Sanchez. I haven't spoken to her, I wouldn't have a clue where she is or who she's doing."

"Oh. Well … see … I just kinda figured …"

"You figured I knocked her up, so I'd know where she is? Nice, real nice, Sanchez. Liv's a big girl, she'll be fine."

Seriously, he wonders how some of these kids ever got a badge. Should they really be trusted with firearms?

"Yeah, but, well, we all know she's close to poppin' the kid out, but no-one's heard from her in like forty eight hours, Stabler. She was meant to be in two days ago."

Alarm bells chime and Elliot hastens his pace as if he's just recalled the horrors of some significant world war. He's alarmed. He should have seen the warning signs. He should have been prepared. The time for thinking and planning about it is past. He has to act immediately.

"Shit. Listen, hang up and try calling her again. I'm on my way to the apartment; I'll call you back when I get there."

"You got it."

Today, he's taking a leap of faith, to commit himself without guarantee, to give himself completely, without reservation. Today, he's laying the foundations.

* * *

He hasn't got the key anymore. She took that back a while ago, a while ago when he was being an absolute jerk and condemning her to whatever waits for him behind this cloak of timber.

His fist makes contact as he pounds against the grain. If fortune knocks but once, he doesn't even want to contemplate the other dozen successors.

"Liv, Olivia, open the god damn door, Liv."

He stands back, leg poised, his foot aimed and he doesn't much care how many splinters fragment when his foot collides with its target.

Another voice commands his attention from across the hall. What the fuck is it now?

"Oi, you can't do that sunshine. Breaking and entering, it's against the law you know. I'm calling the cops."

She has a wooden rolling pin in one hand, her cordless phone in the other. Her hair's pinned up in grotesque curlers and she reeks of gin. Elliot faces her, flashes his badge and tells her to piss off before he loses his block and arrests her for being an overbearing busy body.

"I want your badge number, never, have I ever been so insulted by the likes of your kind. I have rights you know, the constitution says so."

Elliot doesn't care; he's through Olivia's door and out of sight before she's even had half a chance to finish the sentence. He's managed to get himself out of worse. She'll keep.

* * *

"Olivia, Liv, it's me, where are you?"

He shuffles towards the bathroom, her muffled cries alerting him to the fact that all is not well. He flips his cell and hits redial.

"Sanchez, its Stabler. Get a bus, to Liv's place, now."

"Liv. Christ, look at you."

Her belly is swollen; but she's tried to tuck herself into the space between the toilet and the bathroom wall. She's sans pajama pants and the tear tracks that litter her cheeks leave him in no doubt as to her condition.

The white tiles are moist and bloody, her,_ his_ t-shirt is damp and her breathing labored as she struggles against the force of the anguish that wracks her body.

"Liv, look at me," he ushers, "look up here at my face. Liv, you're in labour, sweetheart." Thank Christ he's familiar with this process, and where the fuck did sweetheart come from?

He tries to lift her without jostling her belly, but she mews when the pain becomes too much to bear.

She clutches his hand, her eyes pleading.

He lifts her into his arms then, crushing her body to his chest and doing his damndest to absolve the pain. His lips are warm against her temple as he pulls back the bed sheets. It's not much, but it's all he has to work with.

Towels, he needs towels, and lots of them. Blankets, sheets, god has she got anything for the baby yet? He scrubs at his face, trying, but failing to remain calm for her sake.

"Liv, have you got blankets for him? Swaddles? Anything?"

She takes a shaky breath before blowing it back out through her mouth.

"Linen closet."

He shucks his jacket and pulls the knot from his tie so that he's left in shirt sleeves. He rolls first the right, and then the left to his elbows, folding methodically. He toes off his shoes; he's going to need to be comfortable for this.

Before he can move to the other side of the room though, Olivia grabs his arm, her fingers clawing at the taught skin of his wrist.

"Elliot," she sobs quietly, please don't leave me."

"Liv," he kneels so that they're face to face now. "This little boy, he's not going to wait. He's coming and it's going to be really soon."

She nods, words escaping her articulation.

He hates to leave her, even if it's only to move to the hall, but he has no choice. Victim rule one-o-one, never leave them unattended. He winces, ignoring the knot in his gut and returns to her side with an arm full of freshly laundered bedclothes.

He's struggling, competing with Elliot the cop versus Elliot the father, the best friend, the man who's loved her for as long as he cares to remember. It's a tug of war and he needs to pull the rope from his ass and get on with the job as he calls all of his medical training into question.

His hand is tender as he tries to cajole her, persuades her to open her legs to his scrutiny.

He asks the lord for guidance before crossing the line.

His head snaps up and there's a tear that glistens from its perch on the tip of his nose.

"Liv, listen to me." His free hand gently cups her chin; his thumb strokes the apple of her cheek. "Your son, he's about to be born and I need you to trust me, cause right now, Liv, right now, I'm all you've got."


	12. Chapter 12

**So, it seems as though this story has become a little bit angsty, and a little bit heart breaking. I'm not going to force people to read it, but sometimes, the course we take in life is a rough one. Life is like a case of stairs. The ups and downs, the plateaus, they all bring us to the ground floor. This is EO fic, and there will be a happy ending!**

**I don't own them. I just share.**

* * *

The tears are streaming down her face as he cradles her sons fragile crown in the palm of his trembling hand. He's so tiny that it scares the living shit out of him.

"Liv, I know you're tired, but you can't sleep. I know you need to rest, but not just yet."

Olivia thinks that if she's going to die, then she wants it to be in her sleep, she wants to go like her Grandfather.

"Come on, Liv, you need to do this for me." He grabs hold of her knee with his free hand, briefly, aware of the fact that she needs his contact, needs his touch, the contact of two skins.

She's so weary. She can barely manage a moan. She grits her teeth and sobs as the pain assaults her body and the contractions impair her control.

"Elliot."

"I'm here. Right here, Olivia. You're doing so well."

He's trying desperately to clear his son's mouth and nose, to allow him the freedom to exercise his lungs.

"Elliot," she struggles "promise me … if anything happens, if it comes to a choice, you choose him."

There's sweat on her brow and her eyes squint with the effort, but she pushes for all it's worth and Elliot thinks' he never seen her look so gorgeous. The wonders of the universe seem a blur as he ushers his youngest child into the world.

They wait as for several moments, there's silence and he fears the worst. But a whimper breaks the absence of sound.

Olivia pants violently, trying to catch her breath. She watches Elliot. Her son lies upon the mattress while he rubs the child over. Tiny arms and legs, hands so small they could have been one of his sister's dollies'. He's rewarded with a gurgling whine as he sets the boy upon his mother's chest.

"He's so small."

Elliot smiles. "I think he's perfect."

* * *

She wakes to a dull thumping ache in her lower back, and pain that seems to throb through her temple. She'd never realized she could be this pain sensitive.

There's an itchy plastic tag around her wrist, another around her ankle, both sporting the word Stabler, in bold black print.

"Elliot?" Her voice is hoarse, her throat dry and she wonders how long she's been asleep, if the date has changed at all. Oh god, has she been in a Coma? They say Coma patients experience moments of fantasy. Maybe she's been shot and the past nine months have all been little more than a dream.

Still doesn't explain why she's supposedly married Elliot.

"Elliot."

There's movement in the far corner of the room. Elliot stretches in the recliner and it creaks under his weight, like the gentle sway of a tall teak forest.

"Liv, you're awake."

"Elliot," she hold up he hand and waves it around to catch his attention. "What's going on here?"

Elliot laughs, it's an honest mistake.

"Don't worry about it. I came in with the baby, they asked for my name, probably just assumed you were my wife."

Her eyes seem to sparkle at the mention of her son. Her true beauty is revealed like the light from the sun on a tempered pane of glass.

"How's my boy? Elliot, he's ok isn't he? Oh god, he was three weeks early. Elliot, please."

Olivia tries to sit up; she lifts her one leg and swings the other over the side of her hospital bed. And though she pushes her body, ultimately, it's a futile attempt. The tension on her IV line strains and she snaps back to reality. Elliot is by her side.

"He's fine, Liv. He's small, just needs a little oxygen. They're giving him steroids to support his lungs, but he's absolutely fine. They ah … wanted to know if you have a name for baby Benson."

"Every time I think about it, I change my mind." She covers her mouth with the back of her hand and weeps. "I'm a terrible mother. My child has no name."

"Old no-name Benson, huh. I like it. It's definitely unique."

The tears come and he's powerless to stop them. He feels utterly useless at the moment.

"Listen, Liv. You must be tired, and you'll need to sleep, so I think I'm gonna head home. You're in capable hands here."

"Elliot." He stops in the door to the room, his hands braced against the side of the door frame as he turns. "Elliot, thank you."

"No problem."

* * *

He doesn't turn back, he doesn't go to her and pledge his love, he stays his course and finds himself standing in the middle of the nursery.

His son is cased in plastic. His waking moments and he's already got obstacles to contend with. Life is such an amazing gift and Elliot prays that this purpose will only make his son stronger. The lord giveth struggle; it's his duty to overcome.

"Leave no room for regrets, son."

He's can't raise his eyes from the spectacle that is the fruit of his loins. Elliot aches to brush his finger over the fine dusting of sparse hair that his son is likely to shed. He's impatient. He just wants the little boy to open his heavy lids and gaze up at his father, because this may be the only chance he'll ever get and it hurts his heart.

These feelings of love make him vulnerable. They open his chest like a gaping chasm, and his son is inside and it's messing him up. He can't build up his defenses, that suit of armor that means nothing can hurt him, though he's always been thick skinned, he's so far removed from that liberty now.

How can Olivia just expect him to walk away from all of this?

She wandered into his stupid life, and he gave her a piece of himself. She didn't ask for it, but she nurtured it, she watched it grow.

Now he's a hostage. She leaves him crying in the darkness. It's a soul hurt and it rips him apart.

He turns to the nurse who holds the balance of power. He has only one request.

"Take care of him, please. This one's very special."


	13. Chapter 13

**I don't own them, I just share.**

**Thanks for all the awesome reviews. This story is winding down now, but I haz ideas-a-plenty for the next. I'm always open to suggestion! **

* * *

He left. Walked away like he discovered her dirty little secret and had to flee town. She feels like she's standing on the moon with a lonely view of heaven. She knows where she'd rather be right now, she doesn't know that he's right where she wants him to be, watching over the only thing they've ever managed to negotiate, and they still fucked it up.

For a moment, she contemplates laying down her gun, deserting her badge and forsaking an oath.

But she's not a damsel. She's not in distress. She needs to keep her head.

How deep the bullet lies.

"Liv?"

"Maureen." She's surprised to see Elliot's oldest. "What are you doing here?"

Maureen scuffs her foot along the floor and hesitates. "I wasn't sure you'd let me see you. I just ... I had to come and see you and the baby. I ... I ..."

One Stabler, two Stabler, three Stabler, more.

"We had to come, Liv. He's our baby brother."

"You spoke to your father?"

Maureen nods, her eyes are rimmed red and she stifles a sob. "He told me, told me how close it was, Liv."

Dickie is the first to ask, the first to breech the foreboding for the sake of his brother.

"Can we see him?"

Olivia smiles. She's going to have to get used to this request.

"Course you can. She shifts her weight from the bed with the aid of her son's eldest sibling. "Let's go for a stroll."

Elizabeth, she's always been the sensible one, or, perhaps, just the bossy one. "Are you sure you're allowed to get out of bed? I mean, you must be pretty sore," she points, her face scrunching as she can only imagine the pain, "down there."

"I'm good, thanks. Come on, let's go."

"Oh," they sniffle through the tears. Three Stabler women breaking down in front of her, such a strange sight indeed. For as long as she's known them, she's always just thought of them as Elliot's children. The strong. The brave. The wild.

"He's going to be fine," says Dickie. "He's a Stabler." And for the first time in months, Olivia realises that he really is. That from now until the end of time, he will be.

* * *

"Elliot, man." Johnson cocks his head, "What the fuck are you doin' here? Though you'd be at a bar wettin' that baby's head or some sissy shit?"

Elliot doesn't smile.

"Elliot," there comes a voice from across the room. "Why are you here? Shouldn't you be with Liv?" Munch asks.

Elliot shakes his head. "Had some paperwork to do, have some time to kill."

Fin pushes his chair back and stands to attention. His eyes burn, they hold the brewing storm that's circulating around the group. The clouds draw near and the thunder claps.

"You telling me, that our girl is all alone? Cause that's just not good enough for me."

"You want to take a swing at me tough guy? Come on; give it your best, because this is what she wanted you asshole."

Fin shakes his head. "You make me sick. Call yourself a man. If it were my kid ..."

"Gentlemen." It's time for the captain to muster his men, to take charge of his fleet. "Elliot, we're on our way to the hospital, you want to come with us, son?"

Elliot's anger steals his energy and he lashes out. He's trying desperately to escape the sorrow. His muscles tense and he snarls.

"I love my kid, but this is what she wants. She doesn't want me there. This is Liv we're talking about, Liv, not Kathy. She's always been the independent one. I want to throw myself at my son, to hold him, but she doesn't want that. You want me to risk what might be the only chance to ever have a relationship with him? I don't even know his name."

Elliot is at his lowest. His scars are laid bare, ugly wounds that mar his heart.

Don ushers Fin and John out of the room, watching Johnson ease himself from his chair. The silence is blissfully overwhelming.

Elliot's breathing is barely audible as he sobs. The barrier now broken, the walls crumble.

"Take your time, Elliot. I know you need it."

* * *

"So, Mamma Benson, does this little one have a name yet? His papa tells us that he's lacking. I think he looks like a John, what do you think?"

Fin rolls his eyes. "You're a John, and you look like a queer. There's no need to frighten the poor kid."

"Actually," Olivia speaks, "he does have a name now. Lockyer. Lockyer Elias Benson."

Cragen rolls the name over his tongue a few times, "Lockyer ... Lockyer. I like it. Good, strong name, Olivia."

"You know," Munch intercepts, "the old French form of Elias is Elliot. Elliot, of course, is Hebrew. Lord is my god. Stabler will be proud."

Olivia rolls her eyes. "Actually, my Doctor's name is Eloise. It was the closest I could go. She's been there for me a lot, the past few months."

She'll never admit that's a lie, that Elias is her olive branch, the one piece of Elliot his son will have with him for always. She won't even tell them that despite the fact that she knows what she wants, her son is going to be a Stabler. She'll take the coward's way every time.

Don knows that she's trying to be tough girl, Olivia Benson, Super Mom. Fin wants to tell her to stop being unreasonable. That Elliot has every right to be here. He wants to get all up in her face because he'll always have her back like that. John is just pleased to hear that the child hasn't yet been micro chipped.

Don rounds up his troops; their leading lady has had far too much excitement for one day. Lord knows John Munch is the last thing she needs right now.

"John, the nurses are not going to sell the boy on the black market. Why would you even suggest something like that to a brand new mother?"

He lifts his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. "I'm just saying, Captain. You can't be too careful these days. We all know the boy's from good breeding stock."

Despite herself, Olivia sniggers for the first time in a long time.

"Come on, it's time let Olivia get some rest. She's going to need it." Before they leave though, Olivia has a few words of wisdom.

"Don't be too hard on Elliot. I asked him to let me do this. It's not his fault. He's hurting. We all know what his ego is like." But Elliot's not the only one.

* * *

Elliot is tired, he's disappointed and he crawls along the street, his tail between his legs as he licks his wounds.

It's two a.m. by the time he reaches Olivia's hospital room; set to sit vigil over his saviour.

It's just after three when Olivia wakes to tell him that though she can do this without him, she really does need him.

By three fifteen, she's in his arms. He'll hold her this night. He'll hold her forever.


	14. Chapter 14

**I don't own them, I just share. **

**Because you guys deserve it, and because the next chapter will be smut heavy, here is a little fluff!**

* * *

"Come on Jitterbug. I know that mummy left us the good stuff, but the Doctor says you have to take the thickener."

Elliot leans upon the breakfast bar. He wiggles his toes; the semi-glazed tiles under his bare feet are cool to the touch. His sweats are slung low on his hips and he coddles his son to his chest, one arm maintaining support of his neck.

Lockyer brings his knees up, tucking them into the nook created within his father's embrace. His top lip is blue, his belly, obviously troubled. He makes his discomfort known with a squall, it's barely audible, but his father has come to learn the significance. Oh, the indignity for such a small boy.

Sturdy hands, those that nursed his sisters skinned knee, that pitched fly balls and curve balls his brother could strike, those hands now sweep across his youngest sons back. The fluent, circular motions seem to calm the child and he lets out a muffled belch.

Elliot smiles. "Just like your mother, Jitterbug. I can coax anything out of her."

He pads silently across the floor, his son in one arm, a bottle and a binky in the other. "Let's make ourselves comfortable little man; it's going to be a long day."

The universal remote scans the multitude of channels, searching, seeking an alternative that will satisfy both Stabler and Benson men.

"What do you think, buddy? ESPN? Fox Sports Network? What do you fancy, Lock?

Elliot's son whimpers. Tiny rosebud lips purse against his father's skin and his little head moves from side to side. His nose snuffles as he roots around his father's nipple.

"You won't find anything there, Champ." Elliot moves the latex nipple to his son's lips, and the child suckles greedily.

"You know, this takes me back. My other babies have grown up; I thought I was done with the diaper phase. The goodbyes, they hurt, but I still have the memories. Christ, your dad's an old man." He chuckles. "They say the best things in life come in threes, three sons and three daughters. I'd say that's about right, wouldn't you?"

* * *

"You put the boom-boom into my heart." Elliot drawls in his sleep addled state, he doesn't hear the key turn in the lock nor the double duo watching him from the arc of the dining room.

"They've been listening to Wham again."

Liz watches her father, their baby brother perched upon his chest, one foot kicked free of his sleeper, his tiny toes, pale against the backdrop of his father's exterior.

"How can you tell?"

Rick shrugs. "Jitterbug's asleep. I guess it could have been worse."

"You think, Dickhead?" She displays her tongue affectionately before shoving her brother.

"Yeah, they could have been doing it Risky Business style."

Elizabeth cringes, the very thought of her father in his underwear is enough to make her feel ill. "There's a mental image I could have done without."

"Are you two done?" Their Fathers voice filters through the calm. It's such a change from the man they've known. He seems to be at peace, with his children, with himself.

"Hi, Daddy. How was your day?"

Elizabeth takes a seat on the couch beside her father, a tentative hand brushing her brothers back. The small boy shudders in reply, his whole body clenching as his fledgling mind wanders through the land of imagination, dreams woven around the unconscious.

"Fine, baby. I'm just waiting for the little man to wake up. He'll need a bath before he goes home."

Elizabeth sucks in a shallow breath, her shoulders sag and she turns to her father.

"It's so not fair, Daddy. He's just a baby, I mean, me and Dick, we're old enough to know that you and mum can't be together, we get that, but Little Lock, he's just, so little and he doesn't deserve to be shipped around from house to house. And what about Eli?"

The sleeping boy stirs as if he knows that this topic of conversation concerns his welfare.

"I know, baby. I know. But, Liv and I, that's not going to happen ..."

"Do you love her?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

She wishes he's stop treating her like a ten year old, in case he hasn't noticed; she's not exactly his baby anymore.

"Daddy, do you love Olivia?"

"I loved your mother, and look how that ended. Liz, I'm not a very profound man, I'm too old for flowers and romance. I believe, that what I feel for Olivia is, well, its love. How do I know that I'm not mistaking that for affection because of Lockyer, well ..., I just."

She has had the good grace to be able to watch her mother and father over the years and seemingly, Lizzie has come to a conclusion. She's not an expert when it comes to matters of the heart; she's a mere teenager, infatuation the name of her game. But she loves her father, the way a daughter does.

"Dad, I think, that sometimes, one plus one can equal something," she fiddles with the flannelette sleeper, tucking little toes back into the cocoon of warmth. "And sometimes," she concludes, one plus one, can mean everything."

Elliot looks between the two children, the one who relies, and the one who has just gone and proved, beyond measure that she's nothing short of becoming a woman.

"Daddy, I think, that instead of simply making something of your life, you need to make it everything. Everything it can be."

"I will always, and I mean always, love you, Elizabeth Stabler. All of you, you're my pride and joy, even little bug Benson here. There's ... there are no comparisons, Liz. The six of you, you're all I've got."

* * *

"Hi. How was he?"

Elliot eases the muslin from his shoulder, his son is wrapped securely, his arms tightly by his side, his blue eyes wide with wonder.

"He was fine. Still won't to the formula though."

Olivia nods.

"Thanks for letting me have him today."

"That's ok. I had a few errands to run anyway. Do you want to come in, put him down on the rug for a bit?"

Elliot considers the invitation for a moment, but shrugs.

"Nah, better be getting back to the kids."

He hands his son over like he's precious, a treasure. He's been able to stop the burning lately, the salt that threatens to rub his wounds raw, but he's always reluctant to leave. He wonders each time, if this day will be the last.

"Bye Lock, take care of your mum." He hate's that he's not a part of the Benson brigade, that his son will only ever be that by blood. Sure, blood is thicker than water, but sometimes all a man has is his pride.

"Elliot, wait." Olivia hands her son back to his father before turning to rummage through her bag. She seems to locate what she's been searching for, handing it to Elliot and holding her breath as she waits for his reaction.

"Why didn't you tell me, Liv?"

"Does it really matter, Elliot? We spent so much time fucking around, coming and going like ships in the night, when all we ever really wanted was the same thing."

_Lockyer Elias Stabler._

"It was on his birth certificate all along?"

"I wasn't sure how to tell you." It's lame, but it's all she's got.

"What are we doing, Liv? He's three weeks old and he's already living out of a suitcase. I don't want that for him."

"Elliot, this, us, it's just not going to happen. We had the chance, nine months ago and we blew it. You've got ... all of this ... nonsense with Kathy to deal with. Kathleen, god, Kathleen's come so far Elliot, I'm not going to risk that. Not now."

He draws his finger across the brow of his son. He's so innocent. He deserves better.

"I was married; Liv, married and I still couldn't stop myself. I lost control, but god help me, I don't do one night stands. The feelings, they were there, Liv."

Suddenly, Olivia seems to find her feet most fascinating. The pale polish that colours the toe of her left foot is chipped, reminiscent of her emotions, torn between craving and despair. What might, what may never be.

"Elliot ... you know. You must."

A whimper interrupts their musings; they need not suffer in silence. Their son fusses, demanding attention.

A moment passes. She wants him to kiss her. He's her whole universe, it's overwhelming, eternal. He doesn't have plans. He isn't going anywhere.

"I think," Elliot says, "that this little boy means more than either of us could ever admit."


	15. Chapter 15

**I don't own them, I just share. **

**Thanks to G for the read through!**

**Want to take the chance to thank you all for joining me on this journey. Only one more chapter to go, an epilogue. I know that some of you have doubted me, but all will end well!**

* * *

Tepid water laps at the lip of the tub. Elliot's foot fumbles with the faucet and the steam rises as the surge meets the surface of the temperate ripples.

The pressure upon his chest eases momentarily as Olivia shifts her weight, her legs coming to rest over his own. His dick aches, his erection is painful against the small of her back.

He drapes his arms across her shoulders. Strong arms, brawn chiseled to shapes of grandeur, carved to adhere to her mold.

Her voice pulls him back.

"Comfortable?"

His secures his hold on her.

"Yeah."

"He'll be awake soon. He's such a light sleeper."

Elliot chuckles, the rumble passing through his chest like gunfire and she's helpless.

"You mean compared to his dad?"

"You think you're such a hot roommate? I've got news for you, El."

Her breasts are tender, but his knuckles continue to trace the pert bud of her nipple. They're dark, like treacle, and he wants to bring his mouth to her chest, to suckle as his son does. But he won't. Not today.

"Elliot, please."

"Shh," he whispers, his lips against the shell of her ear as rough fingers trail the length of her abdomen.

"I can't believe he was in here, not so long ago." He plays a hand across her tummy. "I thank God so often, Liv, for all of them."

Olivia sucks on a ragged breath as Elliots fingers skim her pelvic bone and tickle across the juncture of her thighs, forbidden territory.

"El, we can't."

"I know. Trust me."

_Trust me._

She has to test the limits, trust that he will take her where she needs to go.

At his insistence, her legs fall apart, and she braces herself against him, her palms flat against the top of his competent thighs.

He fingers her dark curls. She's wet. But it's not because of their bath. Her folds are slick as he parts them, as her smooth lips envelop his finger.

Her whole being shudders in his arms, but he adds a second finger and a third, his thumb fumbling to catch the nub of pearls that makes her moan. His thumb rubs her clit, and she bucks her hips, taking his fingers impossibly deeper.

"Son of a bitch."

He brushes the hair from the side of her neck and places his lips upon silken skin and his touch burns a path of destruction. But his tongue darts to catch the bead of moisture there, like a veil that covers the burns.

"This is about you, Liv. Let me do this for you. I just want you to enjoy it."

He crooks his fingers, twisting them as her walls clamp around him. Her flesh is so warm and he feels the tip of his throbbing cock glisten, his own need persistent.

He grunts as his fingers thrust and he works at a rhythm. She meets him blow for blow, her hips propelling her forward as if he's above her. She can't see his face, but she knows that he's not smiling. One brow is arched, his lids almost closed and his lips, a thin line as he proves himself a fruitful lover.

"El," she whimpers, "Elliot, more."

He could never say no to a pretty face.

"I'm so fucking hard, Liv." Unfortunately for him, there's not a damn thing she can do about that right now.

"You really are beautiful. I don't think I tell you often enough."

Her movements still and she shrinks back in on herself as her body tenses. He senses the panic; he wears his own guilt like a condemned man.

"Liv, yeah, I was married, but I'm still a man. My dick works just the same as the rest."

"Right, so that's what I am to you, just someone to pass the time. God, I thought you were better than that, Elliot."

He opens his eyes, but his fingers continue their ministrations. He hooks his free arm up under her knee, pulling her back to him, forcing her into his lap. He's not about to let her go, not this time. He knows that she knows him well enough.

"That what you really think? Yeah, so I'm sitting here with a dick that won't quit, but you're the one fucking my fingers, Liv. I told you, this is all about you. I can't wreck this, I need you."

The monitor that sits alongside the bathroom vanity crackles into life. Their son whimpers, but neither of them makes a move.

"He's fine. Let him wait it out, Liv. He has to get used to it. Focus on my fingers. I know you're close."

"One time," she puffs through the onslaught, "one time, and you think you know me, Stabler."

"Old hand."

The moment washes over both of them. Her release is violent; she'll never have to fake it with him. A rainbow of colour strikes her eyelids, the euphoria traversing her body like she feels she can't take it. She's boneless as she sinks.

It's been so long since he's had reason to smirk like this.

* * *

"He smiled, I'm telling you, Elliot, he smiled."

"Liv, its gas. Trust me. He's three weeks old."

Elliot cradles the boy in his lap, one arm behind the child's back while the other tries and fails to manoeuvre a set of chopsticks.

"I told you, just use a fork."

"Liv, I've done this before, a couple a times, its fine." He mumbles through a mouth full of sizzling pork.

"Want me to hold the beer up to your mouth too?"

Elliot leans forward, ever cautious of his precious cargo and puckers his lips hoping that she'll get the hint.

"Looking for something?"

"Just thought you might want to bring something else to my mouth? I won't object." He shrugs.

She snorts after a second. "We are so fucked up." And he smiles against her lips as they touch his.

He licks his bottom lip and admires his cutlery. "Think we'll make it?" he asks absently.

She takes her son's tiny hand in hers, her thumb gently caressing his wrist. He's the epitome of love, the representation of their hopes and dreams. Three lives aligned, to hurt, to cry, to laugh, and to appreciate the importance of loved ones.

"You're the longest relationship I've ever had with a man. We've already had eleven years head start."

She's wearing his shirt, and he's slopping his meal, their son is asleep in his lap, and his children may well have burnt down his apartment by now, but life, he thinks, is finally looking up.

"I can't wait."


	16. Epilogue

**I don't own them, I just share.**

**Here it is, the end. Thanks for hanging in there with me. I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

* * *

Elliot stands in front of the lavish mirror in the men's room, preening. He inspects his hair, not nearly even enough for a good comb over these days. At least the shiny appearance amused the children.

"Dad?"

He turns to see his youngest son.

"Mum said you'd be in here brooding."

The teenager watches his father with interest. Like a still frame, the memory of a moment haunts him. The first flash of consciousness arrives without words, just a fixed image etched into the depths of his recall. His mother has always said that in these brief intermissions, he's reliving his life. He's remembering it all, what he has, and what he came so close to losing.

"... Dad," he carefully severs the tether, "You can't stay here in the bathroom all night. You're the father of the groom; they're expecting you to give a speech."

Elliot pushes the heels of his hands into his eyes and takes a steady breath before he speaks.

"I don't know what's worse. Having to listen to Kathy because she's lonely, or putting up with your mother who insists on fussing."

"Dad, you've just come out of the hospital and you're leg's still manky. Mum's just trying to take care of you, seems you seem to have a knack for getting shot."

Elliot feels like they've come full circle.

"You know I was shot once, long time ago ..."

Lockyer shakes his head.

"Please, Dad, I'm sixteen. It's not really appropriate to remind me of my conception. D said they're about to cut the cake, so just hurry up and come back to the party."

Elliot's son turns on his heel, his dark hair bouncing in waves and Elliot finds himself silently cursing the genes that his parents left with him. For all of the worry that Olivia ever endured, they sure ended up with a pretty fantastic kid.

"Jitterbug."

He turns to his father, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

"Yeah, Dad?"

His father approaches, extending his arm. He places a firm hand on top of his shoulder.

"Lockyer," for a moment, blue eyes pierce brown. "I love you, you and your mother. I'm probably don't say it as often as I should these days, but it's true. I do."

Lockyer smiles.

"Yeah Dad, we know." He embraces his father. "Love you too. Now come on, this is not the place to openly display affection for your old man."

* * *

"You're thinking about her, aren't you?"

Elliot turns from the railing of the open terrace to see Olivia. Her hands are behind her back and she worries her bottom lip between her teeth. He loves all the little things about her. Nearly thirty years and he still feels like the awkward jerk who greeted her on her first day.

"Yeah, she missed Dickie's wedding."

Olivia smiles. "We can visit her tomorrow. I think the kids would like that. They know, you know, that she's ... well. You know."

He nods, choked up on words that once upon a time seemed so foreign.

"Momma is old, she's been sick for a long time, Liv."

"That's not all you're upset about though, I know you too well, Elliot. What's the matter?"

He extends his arm, an invitation for her to take his hand. He's a chivalrous man these days, more so than he ever used to be, more so because of Olivia.

His thumb brushes the simple silver, channel set band that brightens her ring finger and he smiles in remembrance of his own union.

"I should have guessed. Elliot, I'm sorry that the church doesn't acknowledge our vows, I know what your faith means to you."

After sixteen years, she's still the first one to apologise. Sometimes, some things never really change.

"Do you know why I gave you this ring?"

"Oh," she laughs, "probably because I promised to have my tubes tied."

He shakes his head, the mask that Elliot so often relies on softens and for a moment, he seems lost, he looks as if he might just break down without a hope in the world.

"I gave it to you because it symbolises us, Liv. We're bound, you and I, you're my home, and I'll always love you."

Through the haze of tears, she struggles to remember what happened to Badass Benson. She was there one day, gone the next. And she realises, that the woman she was once, will always be her balancing act. She didn't leave, she adapted and she evolved.

"I'm sorry you didn't get your big church wedding, I really am, El. But we did our own thing, and that's ok. I know how hard it was for you, and that's why I love you. You'd do anything to make me happy. I can't believe I'm even admitting this, but I'm only really happy when I'm with you. I was so frightened, El ..."

He places his thumb against her lip, "Shh. I know, Liv. I'm never going to leave you," he sighs, time to admit the truth, that Detective Stabler is settling down, that Detective Stabler is a family man. "I'm taking early retirement. I'll spend some time with Lockyer before he goes off to college, and the Grandkids, they're going to need me, right?"

"Poppy Stabler, he's the best. Bryson told me so this morning. "

Elliot remembers the arrival of their first grandchild, he remembers the second, and he'll always remember the third and fourth. He was so sure twins were supposed to skip a generation. His Lizzie struck that idea out of the ball park.

"Just wait, until Lockyer has babies. I know you love the ones we have, but, it's not the same, is it?"

"As long as I have you, and him, and all of the kids, you can call me whatever you like!"

He smiles like the devil, she knows his game. His fingers move across her clavicle and she shivers under his touch. Yep, he's still got it.

"What if I call you my little sex kitten?"

Olivia snorts. "You can try, but I'm not sure you'll get the rise you're looking for."

* * *

His injured leg is stretched out before him, the other, bent for leverage as his wife moves above him. Her dress is bunched around her waist and he barely had the chance to free his erection before she was upon him. He still doesn't know how they made it to the coat room, but he's not complaining.

It's so cliché, but neither of them care right now, because he's buried inside of her, and he's meeting her stroke for stroke.

His teeth graze her bare shoulder, she's still as firm as the first night he ever had her. Their exercise regime really pays off, as does the extra curricula attention.

She's quiet when she comes these days; she's had to learn to be with a house full of people. But when they're alone, when it's just them and the world, he still knows how to make her scream his name. He likes to think she's his bitch.

"Take it, baby."

Olivia pants into his neck, "You get worse, the older you get, Stabler."

He has no comeback. He merely grins. He'll never tire of her voice.

* * *

"... And I said, are you for, oh my god. Daddy, Liv!"

Kathleen closes the door to the coat room behind her. It's not the first time one of them has walked in on their father and stepmother, but it's getting old, fast. She raises her voice, hoping to get the message through the barrier between them.

"Daddy, you're disgusting. This is Dickies wedding reception; I'd understand this kind of behaviour from him."

His hand slams into the wall behind him as his wife braces herself against his chest.

"Go way, sweetheart, daddy's busy right now."

Kathleen leans against the door, she's tired and she wants her coat.

"Liv, its cold outside, I really, need my jacket."

"God ... sure, Kathleen ... oh ... just ... give us a minute."

Lockyer meets Kathleen in the hall; he furrows his brow wondering what the hell is going on. She thinks that he really does look like their father, possibly the only one of them who truly is their father's child.

"There a line or something, Sis?"

"Ah," what is she going to tell the poor kid, "Something like that?"

Little explanation is needed when the door opens suddenly and his parents tumble out, gasping for breath and thoroughly dishevelled.

"Uh, Dad," his son enquires, "didn't you have a tie on earlier? It's not like you not to wear a tie."

Elliot pats his son on the back as they walk together towards to commotion. The party is in full swing. He's happy, he has everything he's ever needed and then some. The Lord has truly provided.

"I think, I just realised, that there are more important things in life than having to wear a tie. It's probably about time I learnt to live without them, son."


End file.
